


the shrinking bear

by poalimal



Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Androids Without Internet Connections, Animal Death, Capitalism, Climate Change, Dubious Consent, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, Immortality?, M/M, Personality Rights, Post-Extinction Event, WIP, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: Beyond streaming user data, the JXMR-model will also be capable of providing manual labour, emoti-physical companionship, and specialised-or-sponsored (SOS) shopping opportunities to its user ... As the JXMR-model's feedback-behaviour is primarily based on these proprietary user-satisfaction learning models, failing to properly establish and maintain an emoti-physical relationship with the user may cause the JXMR-model to temporarily malfunction.... Each "home" outfit worn by the JXMR-model will be inspired by U.S. military uniforms - see Diagram E4, E5. In combination with the physical appearance of the JXMR-model's face, we believe this design will greatly help to normalise the presence of a militant force in the domestic sphere, priming the user's mind to associate images of the U.S. military with safety and comfort; virility and sensuality; and all-encompassing need.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Original Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759780
Kudos: 8





	the shrinking bear

They'd hoped to ride out the cold season at the house in New Point. Idle hopes: half the hill's gone underwater in the eighteen months since they've visited. The house - and all its painstakingly gathered supplies - is underwater now. From his shoulder, Reaper rears out at the ocean, snapping its jaws once, then slithering back under his shirt. 

The sky is clear; the sun's losing ground. The new line of rocky shore looks like a never-healed wound. Gabe stares down at the water for a long time. 

One day - someday soon perhaps - the water will come for him. But not today.

It begins to rain. 'Aren't you tired of getting caught in the rain?' Jax spiels, later, while they cross the cliffs back up into the forest. He drones on and on about some wonder umbrella that doesn't exist anymore. 

Gabe ignores him, planning. Their only hope is to try and make it south to Poder before the blizzards hit. They've already lost three weeks trying to get out here... if they can get back to Orden before the river freezes, then they won't be trapped on the wrong side of the mountain. Reaper can certainly regrow him limbs after frostbite; it just doesn't like to.

Their forest shelter from last night-- has been taken over by a speckled bear cub. One of the surviving hardy hybrid species. Well - 'surviving' may be an overstatement. Gabe hasn't seen one of those in a while. This one actually might be a juvenile, just a very tiny one. The bear is awake, and alone - it wipes its nose under its arm. It looks cold and exhausted. It turns its back on Gabe and Jax.

'You sure you want to cook at home?' Jax spiels. 'It's been a long day - what if we ordered out?'

'Basta ya,' Gabe says, tiredly. 'I'm not gonna eat it. Esta hambriente - it'd be like stealing. Its mom probablemente made those tracks from before, so we should get going.' 

' _Omnivorous predator?_ ' Jax says, in his Jerry Lewis voice-changer. The bear startles at the noise. ' _I barely know her! Hyha-hyha-hyha_.' 

Gabe ignores him - they move east. His sense of smell always gets confused in the rain: mud, mud and more mud. The sun is sinking fast. Gabe helps Jax gather some long lean-to branches and secures them against a massive yellow-nut tree and each other. They drape what's left of their tarp over the top of the rooflet, and sit together in cramped wetness. Almost full-dark. Gabe hurries to take out the grease from his pack.

' _Permit me to look at that shoulder_ ,' Gabe says, trying to push open Jax' coat. Jax stops him, holding him by the shoulders.

'T-tired of using cooking oil for all your int-intimate needs?' says Jax. 'L-lubrelle is beh-beh-best in a pinch.' His night-vision contacts have slipped on already - his eyes are sickly gold. A fine tremble runs throughout his body.

Fuck. He's glitching. 'Sorry,' Gabe says quietly, relaxing into his hold, 'I didn't notice.'

'It's o-k-it's-ok-oh-o-o,' Jax says, low, leaning his head down. His shirt is almost dry, he runs so much warmer than Gabe. Reaper takes in the heat with a purr. Gabe rolls his eyes, and licks his lips. Jax licks them, too, then deep into his mouth. That weird battery taste does something pretty shocking to Gabe's knees these days. 

By now Jax knows Gabe well: he kisses with too much tongue and teeth, and he keeps a hand tight on the back of his head, tangled in his too-long hair. He used to be polite. Yes-Gabriel-oh-no-Gabriel. Manual-compliant. It really is cramped as fuck - they have to separate briefly to tug down Gabe's trousers, then his long-johns, then his ratty briefs. Gabe has to crouch around to sit in Jax' lap and spread out his legs. It's annoying - wet - misery. Jax opens the little tin of grease - they're running low - he dips his fingers in slow, he makes a space inside of Gabe with his right hand. Gabe tries not to arch apart him.

'Tell me you want me,' Jax whispers. Kissing his neck up and down, jerking him off left-handed. Three right-hand fingers, awkward between them, pumping in and out of him. In and out and in and out: the squelching sound that makes his mind melt. And Jax, grunting, bending his body as he sees fit; a solid holding heat no matter what Gabe does. 

'I want you,' Gabe gasps.

'You need me,' Jax says.

'I need you,' Gabe says, 'ah - ah - fuck, Jack!, I need you.'

* * *

Alone at dawn. No more rain; just chilly damp. Gabe marks off the date with a knife. Updates his shitty, ever-changing map: expanding the sea while he twigs out his teeth. Finger combs his hair as best as possible, then parts it into two uneven braids. He wishes his good pair of shears weren't at the fucking bottom of the ocean. More than that... he really wishes he knew how to loc his hair.

Gabe empties out his pack. His wardrobe is limited. His third set of clothing - a set of ill-fitting fatigues - is still bloodied from dying in Braska a few weeks ago. No briefs or long-johns, either. Ugh. Next time they reach a body of water, he's making Jax wash all their shit. He changes slowly, and still manages to wake Reaper up in the process.

'G'back to sleep,' he murmurs. Reaper makes a crackling yawn noise, then slides down his leg and wraps 'round his bad knee, where the cancer is re-growing. Sweet thing. Reaper feels his fondness and nuzzles more tightly around him.

Two grey birds are tossed to the ground, freshly killed and stiff. Gabe startles. He looks up at Jax, standing in front of the shelter. He's steaming from both ears. Must have really exerted himself during hunting. Thank god for solar energy. He's got some kind of lump stuffed underneath his zipped-up coat, and a bland expression on his face that promises trouble. 

Gabe tries out a smile. 'Qué tal, Jaxi?'

Jax smiles right back. 'You called me Jack last night,' he says.

Gabe winces. 'Oh, uh -- you got breakfast, huh? Thanks!, hold on and we can get a fire going in a minute.' Jax keeps smiling down at him. The lump beneath his coat begins to wriggle - what the hell? 'Uh... you got something you want to share with the rest of the class there?'

Idioms are bait - which Jax these days ignores. 'I wanted,' Jax says, holding his arms awkwardly around his middle, 'to have an honest conversation about your ex-- you know, the one you keep saying I'm not a placeholder for?, the one who jumped into a volcano--'

'Oh, the one you were prototyped for?' Gabe says, mildly. 'Can't think why you'd remind me of him.'

Jax' face - a too-handsome echo of Jack's - cracks. His coat continues to wriggle. 'Well. If you don't think there's anything to talk about, then I don't see any reason to share _breakfast_ with you.' So saying, he yanks the grey birds up one-handed, and storms off northwest. Oh, well, that's just great. He doesn't even eat.  
  
'If you get another clog,' Gabe calls after him, 'I won't be cleaning any organic mush outta you.'

Jax doesn't reply. Gabe decides to give him an hour before he goes after him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Still working through this one. In the meantime, a few notes:
> 
> \- Personality rights (or publicity rights) are essentially one's right to control the commercial use of their name, image, and/or likeness. Discussed at length in this (imo nauseating) 2012 Telegraph article [Selling the Dead](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/9056455/Selling-the-dead.html), which is about different parties fighting over the licensing rights to the images of dead celebrities.
> 
> \- Some research [suggests ](https://www.nature.com/articles/nclimate1259) that certain organisms - including apex predators - are shrinking in size as a result of climate change. See also: [extinction cascades ](https://www.esa.org/blog/2014/08/04/climate-change-predators-and-the-trickle-down-effects-on-ecosystems/) (including [horizonal extinction cascades](http://www.exeter.ac.uk/news/featurednews/title_481000_en.html) among predator species), and [ Bergmann's rule ](https://news.umich.edu/migratory-birds-shrinking-as-climate-warms-new-analysis-of-four-decade-record-shows/). Warning for animal death in some of those links, too.
> 
> \- Jerry Lewis was an old-timey American comic actor with a distinctive voice. He apparently did stand-up, as well... Humour is certainly subjective.
> 
> \- The JXMR-model requires WiFi to download additional language packs. Gabe doesn't want to forget how to speak Spanish.


End file.
